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2 8o McLOUGHLIN AND OLD OREGON

dogs were killed and eaten, the last spare garment was traded for a sack of potatoes. Wet to the skin, shivering around their green camp-fires while the damp flakes fell "as big as a hat," they even envied the comfort of the Indians, lying flat on the clean sand under the huge projecting rocks, secure from the storm, with fires in the foreground. Mt. Hood and St. Helen's were hid in fog that rolled opaquely to the sky. Men in the prime of life sat with bowed heads among the rocks, groaning as if about to die. "Hello! "There were shadows in the fog.

"Here, gentlemen; you were so late in getting down Dr. McLoughlin was afraid you might be in trouble. He has sent a bateau of provisions, also some clothing."

"But "hesitated one, thankful, yet abashed.

"Do not apologize, sir," said the agent, kindly; "take what you need. Those who can pay may do so. Those who cannot must not be left to suffer. Such are the doctor's orders. Boats are on the way to help you down to Fort Vancouver."

Such was the greeting from that "old barbarian "in his den on the Columbia.

Ragged men, tired men, grateful men, piled their wives and children and their household goods upon the welcome bateaux. With violent-beating hearts they struck into the troubled water. The wind whipped the blanket sails, eagles screamed and circled, storms swooped and dipped the spray, on frowning heights the owl and the wolf answered each other, unaccustomed hands were toiling at the oar, but miraculously, out of it all, they landed at Fort Vancouver.

"What can we do? "they asked.

"Go to the fort. The old doctor never turns people